


Strands

by hanamakiisbae



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Everyone's dead here, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mentioned sakuatsu, Post-Canon, Suna Rintarou-centric, it's not as bad as it sounds i promise, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanamakiisbae/pseuds/hanamakiisbae
Summary: Suna Rintarou was dead.As he sat on the marble floor (it’s weirdly white), wearing his favorite clothes (skinny black jeans, his ratty Inarizaki hoodie and a pair of fluffy socks his sister bought him as a joke for his 18th birthday), he gazed at people around him (just as dead apparently) and counted the seconds that went by (no one had a clock).The only thing ringing in his head (besides obvious confusion) was this:'I am waiting for someone.'For whom he was waiting, he didn’t know.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 197





	Strands

Rintarou was standing on a marble floor. How, he had no idea.

The room he was in was enormous, gigantic, with high ceilings, decorations everywhere (damn, the architect of this place went wild), corridors leading somewhere (where exactly?). He felt like he was thrown into a very clean temple (Kita-san would definitely approve of the cleanliness).

The last thing he remembered was playing UNO inside the EJP bus with Komori and Washio and a loud screech of a skidding truck on the lane next to them. Then he was here (where was ‘here’?), wearing his comfort hoodie (didn’t he put it in the washing machine yesterday?).

“Excuse me miss.” he asked a lady next to him (that’s a very nice wedding dress). “Where am I?”

“Oh, hello there! You must be new here.” she smiled at him gently, not at all perturbed by his appearance, greatly contrasting with her own (is this a prank and he suddenly bombed someone’s wedding wearing his trashy clothes?). 

“I...guess? What is this place?” 

“This is the afterlife.”

“...huh.”

So, Rintarou discovered, with the help of a lady in a wedding dress, that he was dead.

As he sat on the marble floor (it’s weirdly white), wearing his favorite clothes (skinny black jeans, his ratty Inarizaki hoodie and a pair of fluffy socks his sister bought him as a joke for his 18th birthday), he gazed at people around him (just as dead apparently) and counted the seconds that went by (no one had a clock).

The only thing ringing in his head (besides obvious confusion) was this:

_I am waiting for someone._

For whom he was waiting, he didn’t know.

When he tried asking around, apparently other people not only waited as well, but they too had no idea for who, which was pretty interesting.

(Or as interesting as something can be when you’re dead.)

Rintarou tried looking around, searching for familiar faces. Surely, if his last memory was of the EJP bus, which meant he died there, someone else from the team could possibly be here as well, right? 

Well, apparently not, for neither Komori or Washio or the rest of his team was here.

Lucky bastards.

Afterlife was funny, Rintarou decided. Kind of like a big train station, but without trains. There were corridors, empty rooms, lots and lots of stairs, but in the end everything led back to the same hall made of marble so white no lights were needed.

Some people waited just like him, making small talk with random pitiful souls or crying about their loved ones (he tried ignoring those ones). Others passed him by, side by side with someone else, before never coming back (where did they go?). 

Rintarou felt no hunger, no need to sleep (which was very unsettling, he loved sleeping). He just sat around, counting seconds until he got bored, tracing the marble decorations with his fingers, sometimes kicking the walls in the rare bursts of frustration, because, you know, _he was dead._

He felt as if he spent years in this place already.

(But no one really knew if that was true.)

Through it all a little voice inside his head kept reminding him that he was here for a reason.

_I’m waiting for someone._

Goddamnit, for who though?

Fortunately for him (or maybe not) his loneliness was about to pass, as a familiar face appeared before him when he blinked.

(Unfortunately, it wasn’t the person™)

“...Atsumu?” 

In front of him, confused as all hell (haha, get it, cause it’s the afterlife) stood Miya Atsumu, wearing what looked like to be the Japanese olympics jersey with a number 11, a pair of maroon shorts and his black volleyball shoes from highschool (even his favorite clothes screamed volleyball).

“Wha-? _Whoaaah._ Where the fuck am I?!” Atsumu shrieked, turning his head around in confusion. Finally, his eyes landed on Rintarou, who was casually sitting cross legged, picking at the thread coming off from his left sock (somehow he can’t rip it off, believe him, he tried). “Suna?! What- _yer dead!!_ ”

“Yeah. Looks like you are too.” Rintarou responded casually with a shrug.

“I- Whoah?” Atsumu narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Welcome to the afterlife.” Rintarou waved his hands around, old razzle dazzle style, with a deadpan expression.

Atsumu’s eyes widened comically. “Oh _god-_ ”

“Considering the place we’re in right now, I don’t think you should be saying that word.”

Atsumu frantically started shaking his head, eyes taking all the details of the hall, gripping his dark hair harshly (oh, did he grow them back after Rintarou died or did the afterlife not accept dyed hair just like teachers back in junior high?)

“Suna, shit, this can’t be real-!”

“It very much is so.” 

“I shouldn’t have drank that, oh my god, why did I do that, Kiyoomi’s goin’ to _kill me-_ ”

“You’re already dead.”

“Shut up, Sunarin!” Atsumu snapped, smacking his cheeks harshly, visibly panicking. He moved to stand behind Rintarou, still not believing where he was. Gently, as if Rintarou was a dangerous animal instead of a soul-ghost-something (he still has no idea what he is), Atsumu tapped his shoe on the middle blocker’s shoulder, moving back with a shout.

“This is real.” Atsumu gulped. “Oh my god this is real.”

(Shouldn’t the dead rest in peace? Why was Atsumu here, tormenting him even when they both kicked the bucket?)

And so, like a good friend he was, Rintarou tried explaining to Atsumu that yes, this is the afterlife, no, they are not zombies, yes, he also had no idea how Atsumu’s hair magically stopped being blonde and no, they can’t leave.

“So, Atsumu. What stupid thing did you do that you ended up in the afterlife?” Rintarou urged his friend to talk, slowly losing patience with his behaviour after Atsumu tried once again moving his arm through Rintarou’s body, despite the latter telling him five times already that his body is still corporal. 

Atsumu paused all movement, looking at his hands like they held all the answers of the world, before uttering with a shaky voice, “I think someone drugged me.”

Rintarou, as slowly as he could, turned around to face Atsumu, who upon the realisation of the cause of his death started clutching his black hair again, his eyes so wide they could pop.

“You’re kidding.” Rintarou croaked out in shock.

“Fuckin’- I wish I was, but apparently I’m in the goddamn afterlife!” Atsumu yelled, pulling on the silky strands harder.

“What the hell did you do, you idiot?” Rintarou hissed out.

“I- I don’t know, it’s just- I didn’t mean-” A pause and a sigh. “...It’s a long story.”

“Well.” Rintarou patted the floor next to him. “Considering time doesn’t flow here, I’m all ears.”

Atsumu sat heavily besides him, knees close to his chest, hands on his face, rubbing so hard it would probably hurt if he was alive (too bad he wasn’t).

“We- the Jackals started losing constantly, we fell in the rankings significantly after Shoyou left to play for Brazil.” Atsumu began, dropping his hands to play with his shoelaces. “I was so stupid, I-I know it wasn’t anybody’s fault, but I was so angry at myself and everyone that I just- I just snapped. I yelled at Bokkun, I almost punched Meian-san, what the _fuck_ is wrong with me-” Atsumu groaned, slamming his forehead on his knee. Rintarou was pretty sure he saw the beginning of tears in his friend's eyes, and the last thing he wanted right now was a crying Miya.

“Was.”

“Huh?” Atsumu lifted his head in confusion at Rintarou’s interference.

“You’re dead.” Rintarou answered with a shrug. “So what _was_ wrong, not _is._ ”

Atsumu stared at him for a while, before snorting. “Jeez Suna, ya know how to make a guy feel better.”

“What can I say, I sure was a people pleaser.” Rintarou claimed with his trademark emotionless voice, making Atsumu laugh even harder. 

“Yeah, ya were.” Atsumu chuckled, propping his chin on his knee. 

A pleasant silence overtook them (he tried counting, but gave up after getting to 328 seconds). Looked like Atsumu calmed down a bit.

“You didn’t finish.” Rintarou mentioned, nudging Atsumu with his sock clad foot. The man flinched at the reminder.

“Ah, yeah, right, the story of my…” Atsumu cringed. “...death.”

“Yeah.” Rintarou nodded, getting more comfortable on the floor (was that even possible?). “Your death.”

Atsumu sat still for a bit, clearly thinking what to say, before giving up with a sigh. “I got into an argument with Kiyoomi.” he mumbled quietly, guilty.

“Since when did you two got chummy enough to drop the shitty nicknames?” Rintarou asked, curious.

“Ah, right, ya-...ya weren’t there anymore.” Atsumu scratched the back of neck awkwardly before pulling out a ring attached to a silver chain. “We got together right before the Olympics.” 

“Congratulations, sucks I couldn’t see you getting your head out of your ass after pinning for so long.” Rintarou sniffed, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

“Aw, shut up.” Atsumu chuckled, not at all angry. “Anyways- Ah, I told Kiyoomi some... nasty stuff. Don’t wanna dig deeper with this one, sorry.”

“Understandable.” Rintarou shrugged. Dead or alive, private life was still private. If Atsumu wanted to keep some things to himself, he wouldn't judge. 

“And so, like a dumbass I was-” (wow, Atsumu admitting he was a dumbass? Death sure changed the guy) “-instead of calmin’ down, I went to this freaky bar Wan-san’s girlfriend told us about once. Shady place, very western like, ya wouldn’t like it.” Atsumu moved back from his slouch, now leaning on his hands, looking up to the ceiling (it was a very pretty ceiling, with all these statues and flowers and shit). “I got absolutely shit faced.”

“Wow.” Rintarou said, laying on his back to stare at the funky fat angels as well, carved in the marble slightly darker than the one floors were made of. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Oh shut up, Suna.” Atsumu grumbled. He stayed quiet for a bit, before continuing, “There was this guy who recognized me. Went all crazy ‘n shit, wanted my autograph, took a few photos. Then-” Atsumu took a shaky breath (here comes the bad part). “H-he bought me a drink. Of course I took it, swallowed the whole thing in one gulp. I was drunk after all, why shouldn’t I enjoy another one?”

Another pauze. Atsumu dropped on his back as well, but this time his hands covered his face, as if trying to hide away from the world.

“...what then?” Rintarou hesitantly asked, eyes still focused on the statues above them.

“I blacked out.” Atsumu whispered from behind his palms. “And when I woke up, I saw ya sittin’ on this dumb floor, wearin’ yer shitty socks that ‘Samu and I told yer sister to buy.”

(I’m so sorry.)

“They aren’t shitty.” Rintarou argued, wiggling his toes. “They’re my favorite pair.” 

Atsumu’s hands moved away, leaving behind a blotchy face, tears and snot dripping down the skin. “They are?” he asked noisily, sniffing.

“Even after I washed them for all these years, their insides stayed fluffy.” Rintarou nodded (distract him, distract him-). “I don’t know if you noticed, but everyone here wears their favorite clothing.”

Atsumu turned his face, looking at all the other people in the hall, some interested in what the two of them were doing, others simply enjoying the privacy. “Huh, that explains why some of them look weird as fuck.”

“Yeah, it does.” Rintarou continued. “I saw a lady with a very nice wedding dress when I first came here. She told me about this place.”

“Is she still here?” Atsumu asked hesitantly, his eyes back on Rintarou’s form.

“She comes and goes.” Rintarou answered honestly. “You’ll probably see her sooner or later.”

“...why favorite clothin’ though?” Atsumu wondered, at which Rintarou shrugged.

“No one knows.”

After that, they stayed silent for a long time, even when Atsumu decided to explore (which was weird, considering Atsumu was, well, _Atsumu,_ but Rintarou once again reminded himself that they’re both dead and weird behaviour is probably natural for this sort of thing). 

Atsumu walked around the hall, asked people questions, laughed with some, cried with others. Rintarou simply stayed in his spot, watching strangers walk by. His new companion returned to him some time later and sat cross legged next to him, his face determined. Rintarou was pretending to be asleep (and how he wished he actually could be).

“Hey, Sunarin.” Atsumu began.

“Hmm?”

“Can I call ya Rin?”

At that, Rintarou opened his eyes and gazed at his friend. “Why?”

“We’re dead.” Atsumu simply answered.

“Uhuh.”

“And we’re not really goin’ anywhere, are we?”

“Not really, no.” Rintarou closed his eyes once again (he wished they could go somewhere else though, the marble was getting boring).

“So?”

“Hm?”

“Can I call ya by yer name?”

“Sure.”

“Cool.”

Silence.

“Hey, Rin.”

“ _What._ ” Rintarou snapped, eyes open once again, glaring at the man beside him.

“Who are we waitin’ for?”

That made Rintarou pause.

“I don’t know.” he muttered with a huff, smacking his head on the floor (let me go to sleep _please_ ).

“But yer feelin’ it too, right? That yer waitin’ for someone.” Atsumu insisted, shuffling closer.

“...yeah.” Rintarou sighed. That seemed to satisfy the no longer blonde Miya, as he finally let Rintarou rest.

(Both of them knew he couldn’t. No one here could.)

The two of them lounged by the walls once, various flowery patterns engraved in the bright stone (why is the afterlife so fancy?), when Rintarou remembered to ask about something that’s been bothering him for some time now (again, for how long exactly?).

“Atsumu.”

“Hmm?”

“Before you came here, how long was I dead for?”

Atsumu hummed in thought, tapping his foot on one of the prominent marble flowers before answering, “Four years, I think? Somethin’ like that.”

“Do you remember how I died?”

Atsumu's face visibly shifted, making him look like he wanted to kill someone (can a person in the afterlife kill another person? What an interesting thought). “A truck crashed into yer team’s bus when ya were goin’ to yer game in Sapporo.” 

Rintarou waited for a continuation, but it never came. Atsumu just sat there, playing with the ring hanging from his neck nervously. 

“Atsumu, I asked how I died, not by which means.” Rintarou tried again, desperately digging for information concerning his death. 

(Honestly, who wouldn’t, after your last memory of the living world was getting your ass handed to you in UNO.)

“Trust me, Rin.” Atsumu muttered, his face grim. “Ya don’t wanna know the details.”

(Not the prettiest of sights then.)

Rintarou hummed, deciding to switch the topic. “Did anything change while I was gone?”

“Well, as ya can see,” Atsumu pointed at his jersey. “I was at the Olympics.”

“Oh, so this isn’t an ‘insert your name here’ t-shirt from Amazon?”

“Wha- Ya fucker, I earned that shit! I set the ball to Ushiwaka himself, ya know!” 

“Huuh. Tell me more.”

And so Atsumu did, telling him about the monster generation, about the excitement once they discovered four of the players from MSBY Black Jackals were chosen to represent Japan in the national team, about the horrific training regime from which Gao had nightmares. Atsumu narrated in great detail all of their matches, especially the one against Argentina, which he claimed to be ‘the best of them all’, despite Japan losing. He explained how amazing the weight of the medal felt on his neck, the kiss he gave Sakusa in front of the whole world, how the tag ‘sakuatsu’ was trending on Twitter for almost a week.

And as Atsumu said more and more, Rintarou started feeling something seeping deep into his heart, something he hasn’t felt since coming here.

(Did his death make him feel so empty that only the arrival of the more annoying Miya brought back the emotions he left in the world of the living?)

“Atsumu.” Rintarou interrupted the oh so amazing tale about Bokuto’s problems with taxes and how the man was almost taken to the court.

“Wha- oh come on Rin, I was gettin’ to the good part!” Atsumu whined, kicking the marble flower in frustration.

“How-” (Oh man did his mouth always feel so dry? Too bad there’s no water in this place.) “How was Osamu?” 

Atsumu’s frustrations evaporated instantly at the question, his eyes losing the will to argue.

“Was the business good for him?” Rintarou continued, ignoring the tender gaze (what the hell Atsumu). “I remember him mentioning something about a Tokyo branch. He almost had a fight with this one old man who tried to swindle him for this booth close to Tokyo Tower.”

(Ah shit, he’s crying, isn’t he.)

“He told me-” A hiccup. “He always told me how happy he was people enjoyed these stupid onigiri of his. How much joy it brought him.”

(Yep, definitely crying.)

Rintarou flinched when suddenly a big, meaty arm enveloped his frame (jeez, when did Atsumu get so buff?). At the action, Rintarou broke down even more, feeling the body heat (how is this even possible-) of another human being (they aren’t human anymore, _they aren’t-_ ), which he didn’t have an occasion to feel ever since his death. And so they sat there, Rintarou a blubbering mess in his friend’s arms, Atsumu trying to comfort him silently.

(And he could swear on his shredded remains, ‘cause he’s pretty sure nothing more of him was left from that truck, that he felt Atsumu shaking from anguish as well.)

“He’s good.” Atsumu mumbled, whipping his face with the arm that wasn’t holding Rintarou. “‘Samu’s good. The branch expanded to Tokyo, not that close to Tokyo Tower, but it did.” A sniffle. “He tried findin’ a good place in Aichi as well.”

Rintarou froze.

“W-why Aichi?” he asked, hesitantly.

(No way.)

“And I’m supposed to be the idiot here? Really Rin?” Atsumu laughed weakly, sniffling again.

(No way, no way, _no way-_ )

“Yer sister asked him, y’know.” Atsumu continued. “Said ya liked ‘Samu’s onigiri so much it would be a pity if he didn’t build another restaurant in yer home prefecture.” A sad chuckle left his mouth. “I don’t know if he did it though. I died.”

By the time Atsumu finished, Rintarou was already a bigger mess than before. Atsumu joined him shortly after, fat tears already falling down his cheeks.

(Screw the Miya Twins. Screw Osamu. Screw this place for not having tissues.)

Next time they saw the wedding dress lady, she was crying. In her grasp was a man, wearing what looked like to be a red satin bathrobe, a pair of baby blue fleece pants and a Jurassic Park t-shirt that saw better days. They hugged and kissed, ignoring the murmurs around them, the happy claps or the jealous remarks.

Hand to hand, they walked off to one of the corridors, happily chatting with each other, as if completely forgetting about the fact they died.

Both Rintarou and Atsumu never saw them again. They sometimes talked about her and her lover, about how they disappeared. 

(Rintarou hoped nothing bad happened to her, she was so kind to him and other people who appeared in this cursed place, but deep down something told him she was happy.)

“Hey, Rin?” Atsumu asked him, after yet another discussion concerning the fate of the wedding lady and her bathrobe man.

“Yeah?”

“Didja ever love my brother?”

Something in Rintarou’s heart throbbed at the words. 

It brought him back to high school, when he and Osamu met for the first time in class 1-1. To their time as teammates, all the quips, flirting that never gave fruit. When they finally parted ways, Osamu chasing his dreams as a business owner, Rintarou going with the flow after getting an invitation to play for EJP Raijin. How they both got so busy with life, and despite that, the flame burning inside Rintarou’s heart never gave out. 

_I am waiting for someone._

Ah.

(I understand now.)

“I did.” Rintarou answered. “I still do.”

Atsumu hummed, hands hidden in the material of his volleyball shorts.

“That’s good, ‘cause I’m pretty sure ‘Samu loved ya too.” Atsumu responded back without missing a beat, like it’s the most known fact in the world.

Rintarou hummed as well, shoving his hands inside the big pocket of his Inarizaki hoodie. “You think?”

“Nah.” Atsumu grinned toothly at his friend. “I know it.”

They both had their better and worse days (days? hours? centuries?). 

Sometimes Rintarou went to the walls, kicking at the marble decorations, taking his anger and anguish out at the pretty flowers. There were times when Atsumu joined him, screaming obscenities at the gods, at this place, at the man who took his life.

Sometimes, instead of screaming, there were tears flowing freely down the setter’s face, fat and disgusting.

(These times Rintarou hated the most.)

“I’m just scared, Rin.” Atsumu cried out, throwing a punch at the marble wall next to him. “What if Kiyoomi hates me for what I did?”

“Can’t do much about it now, you know.” Rintarou muttered, loafing around next to a pillar, leaning his long legs on its surface, his upper body on the floor. 

(Jeez, he’d love to play some Subway Surfers right now. Why were phones not allowed in the afterlife?)

“I left him alone. What if they never found my body? He’ll think I ran away from him!” Atsumu wailed, smacking his head on the opposite side of the same pillar Rintarou leaned on.

“If he knew you well enough he would know you wouldn’t just up and run off without saying anything.” 

It was silent for a bit, only Atsumu’s pathetic cries and hiccups sounding through the air around them. 

Just when Rintarou thought it was over, Atsumu kicked the pillar with all of his strength, falling on it with his chest before sliding down like a sad sack of potatoes. 

“Do ya think he’d forgive me if I apologised?” Atsumu mumbled, his cheek squished on the structure. 

“Apologised for what? Dying? Having your body sold on the black market?” Rintarou argued, turning his torso to the side to look at his friend judgingly.

“Ya suck, Rin.” Atsumu groaned with a pout.

“And you swallow.”

“Fuckin’- Can’t a guy cry in peace here?!” Atsumu fell down on the floor properly, now glaring at Rintarou from under his dark bangs. 

“There’s a crying group in the room to the right if you’re interested.” Rintarou retorted with a raised eyebrow. Atsumu opened his mouth to say something before closing it, repeated the action a few times before giving up with a huff, dropping his face on the ground.

They met with silence once again, just lying there on the floor. Atsumu rolled to his side, looking at the wall with an unreadable expression.

“Do ya think they found someone else after we died?” 

Rintarou closed his eyes at the question. 

(Pretend you’re asleep.)

“Ya know ya can’t sleep here, Rin.”

(Ugh.)

“Can we drop the depressing thoughts and talk about something else?” Rintarou asked with a groan.

“But it’s important!” Atsumu argued. “Remember the wedding lady? When the lover guy met her they looked so happy!”

“And?”

“If the- the feelin’ we have inside, the waitin’ for somethin’- what if it never gets fulfilled? What if they find someone else to love and we’re stuck here forever?”

(Please shut up.)

“What if we’re doomed to rot in here, watchin’ how everyone else gets to leave like the wedding lady?”

“Atsumu, shut the fuck up or I’ll consider trying out my ‘is killing someone possible in the afterlife’ theory on _you._ ”

“No ya won’t, ya love me.” Atsumu pointed out, waving his finger in the area where Rintarou lies.

“Wrong twin.” Rintarou snickered, closing his eyes again.

“Oh fuck off, Rin.” Atsumu grumbled, a pout clearly audible in his voice.

“I’d love to, but unfortunately for both of us I can’t.” he joked, getting comfortable on the marble floor. He didn’t tell Atsumu that his concerns were very much present in Rintarou’s mind.

The less they think about it, the better acceptance of their situation will be, he thought.

(But still, it hurt.)

Rintarou was strolling through the countless staircases, searching for nothing in particular, nodding in greeting to the people he saw once or twice in these corridors, sometimes introducing himself to new faces. He no longer tried counting the seconds that passed, no longer cared. He thought Atsumu stopped caring too. 

Most of the people they knew from before (how long was the before?) disappeared, joined by their loved ones (I’m still waiting for you, please, don’t leave me-). Atsumu didn’t cry as much as he used to, Rintarou thought.

(Or perhaps he’s gotten so good at hiding it, he always was a great liar after all.)

As he was leaving yet another corridor, getting closer to the main hall, he heard shouting, oh so familiar.

(No way.)

Eyes widening in realisation, Rintarou ran down the stairs, passing people by, bumping into their shoulders in his chaise after the voice (I know this, it’s the same as back then, _it’s the same-_ ).

He jumped out of the narrow room and right before him they stood, shoving at each other like they used to.

“Do ya have any idea how worried all of us were, ya dumb fucker-”

“What didja want me to do, huh?! Haunt ya in yer sleep?! I don’t even know if I could do that!”

“Ya disappeared on us, ‘Tsumu! Omi-kun was searchin’ for so long, he still is-”

“I don’t even know what happened to my body ‘Samu, get off my- wait, Kiyoomi was lookin’ for me?”

“ _All of us were!!_ ” Osamu shouted in his twin’s face.

“Ah, jeez, that’s embarrassin’, I-” Atsumu finally noticed his companion and paused the scuffle with his brother. “Rin’s here.”

At the mention of the name, Osamu dropped his grip on Atsumu’s jersey and started wildly looking around until his eyes landed on Rintarou’s form.

Rintarou couldn’t help the wet snort that left his mouth (ah, he’s crying already). “The ‘kiss the cook’ apron? Really, Osamu?”

Maybe it was the magic of the afterlife or maybe not that much time had passed, but Osamu looked exactly how Rintarou remembered him. The thick eyebrows, his handsome face, his dark bangs moved to the side, the Onigiri Miya cap perched on his head, the ugly ‘kiss the cook’ apron they gave him when he opened his first restaurant, some scratchy jogger pants Rintarou clearly remembered having a tomato sauce stain on the crotch and this damn tight Onigiri Miya t-shirt he loved and hated at the same time.

(He was beautiful.)

Like a wind, Osamu rushed to Rintarou’s side, taking him in his arms like he was something precious, something he lost (he did, he lost him, the bus, _the truck-_ ).

“Rin.” Osamu mumbled in his hair, holding him tightly, feeling his body, corporal, warm around his embrace. “ _Rin._ ”

“Yeah.” Rintarou responded in kind, hugging him back, letting the oh so familiar smell enter his nose (I missed this, _I missed you-_ ). “It’s me alright.”

“I- It’s been- It’s been _so long_ since I lost ya.”

“How long, Osamu?” Rintarou asked, shaking from the emotions, from the happiness, he found him ( _I found you, I waited and you came-)._

“Too long.” Osamu responded, kissing the top of his head. “Too damn long.”

Something inside him sang in delight, like a chorus of angels, their wings fluttering, his soul singing (I waited, you came, I love you so much-).

And then, for the first time since he came here, he knew what he had to do. Looking into Osamu’s eyes, he knew he felt the same.

Their time has come.

Atsumu must have known too, somehow (he was too smart for his own good sometimes), because he stayed where Osamu left him, arms crossed, a tender smile on his face.

“Leavin’ already, aren’tcha?” he asked, a tilt of taunting in his voice.

“I had to endure sitting here with you for all these years, I think I deserve a break.” Rintarou teased back, smirking at his friend. 

“20 years exactly, by the way.” Osamu chimed in with a grin.

“Holy shit, we were here _that_ long? What the fuck.” Atsumu groaned, before snapping his eyes back to Osamu. “Why the hell do ya not look like an old geezer then?”

“Afterlife magic.” Rintarou and Osamu answered at the same time, before grinning at each other. Atsumu started making gagging noises.

“Ya two are disgustin’. Go along now, leave me alone in this shithole.” Atsumu waved his hand in goodbye before starting to walk away. 

“Atsumu.”

Hearing Rintarou’s voice, Atsumu paused, hesitantly turning his head back.

(Oh he’s crying alright, the sly fox thought he could run away before they noticed.)

“Don’t worry about Kiyoomi, I’m sure he didn’t forget about you.” Rintarou reassured his friend, the one who accompanied him among the marble walls.

“Ya think?” Atsumu asked hesitantly.

“No.” Rintarou smiled, full of affection he didn’t know he could ever show Atsumu if not for their shared time in the afterlife. “I know it.”

“Ya were worried ‘bout that, ‘Tsumu? Lame.” Osamu called out, before adding. “Once he sees ya here, he’s goin’ to break down, I promise ya that.”

“Ugh, shut up ya two, just go already!” Atsumu shouted, trying to sniff back the snot already running down his face. He stomped away, but before he hid away in one of the corridors, he yelled, “See ya in another whatever place there is after the afterlife!” 

Once alone, they took a hold of their hands and walked. Where they went, they had no idea. They simply allowed their legs to lead the way. 

(This is it.)

“Osamu.”

“Yeah, Rin?”

“I love you.”

Something was glowing behind them, he noticed. He squeezed Osamu’s hand tighter. 

“I love ya too, Rin.” Osamu gazed at him, slightly worried. “What now though?”

“I don’t know.” Rintarou answered honestly, before shooting Osamu a silly smile. “But as long as we’re together, I know we’ll be alright.”

Hand in hand, they continued walking, ignoring the light, the marble disappearing under their feet. Voices no longer entered their ears, replaced by the silence that didn’t sound so bad as he thought it would.

The last thing he saw was Osamu’s toothy grin and his grey eyes, full of adoration. 

The last thing he felt were Osamu’s lips on his, gentle and oh so loving.

(Beautiful.)

(Their love was so beautiful.)

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *writes this in a burst of inspiration*  
> Also me: *yeets myself out of existence*
> 
> If you want to scream at me about this disaster here's my twitter: @talkativewyvern
> 
> Kudos and comments, as always, greatly appreciated ❤️❤️❤️


End file.
